


The Farmer Boy

by seveillon



Series: JeanMarco Week 2014 [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Bad Fic, I'm Bad At Tagging, JeanMarco Week, M/M, apollo!marco, olympus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 03:29:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2492798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seveillon/pseuds/seveillon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For JeanMarco Week<br/>Day 2: Olympus</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Farmer Boy

**Author's Note:**

> This is a shit fic but I can't art and still wanted to put something out for JeanMarco week.  
> So think of Marco as Apollo who is the "god of light and the sun, truth and prophecy, healing, plague, music, poetry, and more." (Wikipedia ftw) and Jean is just your average farmer.  
> Basically, Apollo chooses Jean to be his consort (little does he know) and they go off and stuff goes down and he needs to use his awesome healing skills to save his life. I don't know.. its really bad. I'm so sorry. Olympus really wasn't my favorite theme but yeah..

The sun beat down hard on Jean’s back. Rivulets of sweat ran down his back as he dug the shovel again and again down into the dirt, preparing the soil for planting. He wiped the sweat from his face leaving behind a streak of huge dirt down the side of his face. Planting season was always his least favorite. It was too much work. Jean much preferred harvest season, when it was beginning to cool and the breeze cooled off his overworked body. Heaving a sigh, he settled the shovel on top of the dirt, resting his forearm uncomfortably on top of the handle in exhaustion. He needed a break.

A twig snapped behind him, jerking him out of his near slumber. Whipping around he saw Marco walking toward him, the sun casting an ethereal glow around him. His black hair created a stark contrast with the white robes, which the wind pressed against, molding the robes to his body in a swirling mass, hugging the sleek muscles close. “Hello,” he greeted. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” Jean grimaced at the sweet voice, too tired to try and be polite right now. “How’s the planting going?”

Jean shrugged. “Slow, hotter than Hades’ ass too. I’m drained.”

Marco laughed. “Then take a break, silly! Come. I’ll show you this wonderful little lake I found. We’ll pack a picnic and bring the discus.” Jean agreed readily, dropping the shovel where it was, highlighting his unfinished work. 

“Let me just rinse off quickly.”

“Go ahead. I’ll pack the picnic while you get ready.” Marco rubbed a finger down Jean’s face, pulling away the dirt. “You do smell.” Jean rolled his eyes, but a smile softened the expression. Marco couldn’t help the smile that broke out on his face in return.

Running back to the house, Jean knew Marco would get there easily enough on his own. Besides, packing a picnic would take less time than it would to make him look presentable.

Ever since he was a child he always remembered Marco coming over to play and go on adventures, or just relax, sing and play his lute. Strangely enough Jean didn’t know where Marco lived, nor had he met his family. It never felt strange though, and Jean’s mother was welcoming enough that neither one cared they spent all their childhood at Jean’s house. Besides, packing a picnic would take less time than it would to make him look presentable.

Hurriedly scrubbing off the dirt, watching the flecks fall in the basin beneath, Jean could hear Marco enter the door and begin banging around in the kitchen, gathering all the food and items for their picnic. Jean slipped on a new shirt and pants, dropping the sweat and mud soaked ones in the corner to deal with later. “Okay, I’m all set.” He said, emerging from his room, tying his pants as he walked out.

Marco was ready, standing in the center of the room, holding a basket and the discus. His eyes strayed down to watch Jean’s hands finish tying the knot. “Alright, let’s go.”

The walk to the lake was silent. Occasionally one of them would point out an interesting flower, or animal tracks. Sometimes they’d find a berry bush and, embarrassingly enough, Marco would pick them off the bushel and insist on feeding them to Jean, who thought his fingers might have lingered a little too long over his lips.

Marco was in the middle of discussing some kind of plant for healing when Jean heard it. He stopped walking, back straight. “Shh,” he warned, trying to open his ears to the sound again. Marco heeded his warning, stopping talking, and backtracking slowly toward Jean. Lowering his voice, he asked, “What is it?”

“I thought.. I head something. . .” Jean scanned around, peering through the trees. He didn’t pack any weapons, not thinking he could need them, so he only a small hunting knife on him. It was not a good thing if they were caught by surprise from anything with intent to kill. “I wouldn’t suppose, if we needed it, you’d have a sword or something tucked away in those fancy robes of yours?” Jean asked. Marco shook his head, confirming Jean’s fear that if anything did happen, it would be up to him and his little knife to defend. He hoped it’d be enough. 

“I think it’s okay now though, Jean, nothing seems to be lurking around. If something was going to attack, it would have already.” Reluctantly, Jean agreed, letting Marco continue to lead to the lake. 

They were passing by a bush when Jean heard it again. Jean swore under his breath as he caught sight of black skin. Wiping out his knife he shoved Marco out of the way, directly on top of the wild boar who’s home they had disturbed. It was a quick fight, but it felt like eternity, the grunts and groans echoing off the trees. With a sickening squeal, Jean dug his knife into the boar’s neck. Blood pulsed out over his hand, soaking his shirt. Marco yanked his away, leaving the knife still embedded in the boar’s neck.

“Jean! Jean!” He shouted. “Are you okay?” Hands patted down his body, checking for wounds. They found a gash, running ragged up his forearm from one of the tusks. “Oh, no,” Marco breathed out. “We need to get you back to the house.”

Jean nodded numbly, feeling drowsy from blood loss. Marco draped his good arm over his shoulders and began to stagger back toward the cottage. The trip back felt even longer than their walk to the lake. The lake they didn’t even reach, Jean faintly remembered. 

He was plopped down onto the bed, blood still trickling from his arm. “If we don’t stop the bleeding, you will die. And we need to make sure its clear of infection. I’m going to go grab some alcohol, rags, and herbs from the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”

Marco rushed back, juggling all that, along with a mortar and pestle he found. “This may sting a bit,” he warned, as he soaked a cloth in alcohol. Pressing it onto the wound, Jean’s body jerked away, the pain unbearable. Marco pressed down his shoulder, securing his body as he finished cleansing the wound. “You have to stay still, while I stitch this up.” The needle poked at his tender skin. Jean grit his teeth, willing himself to hold still and let Marco finish. It felt like eternity, but finally Marco laid the needle aside.

“I’m going to grind up some herbs and make a salve, okay?” Marco began grinding away into the mortar, adding unknown herbs that he pulled from a pouch attached to the rope around his waist. Jean could only nod weakly, the pain in his arm burned through his body making speech impossible.

With gentle hands, Marco applied the salve. Immediately, a cooling sensation fell on Jean’s arm, quenching the fiery pain. His mind cleared, allowing him to ask, “”How did you do that so well?”

Marco pushed back the fringe of Jean’s ashy blond hair, and placed a sudden, tender kiss to his forehead. “I choose you. And I will protect you always.”


End file.
